The Viral Outbreak
by RauserAddron
Summary: <html><head></head>Something has been stirring recently; a dark organization with intentions unknown to the world. One day, it all breaks out, and every country in the world is involved. Time is running out, and this organization will stop at nothing to see humanity eradicated. High T for possible violence and language. Rating may go higher as the story progresses.</html>
1. Prologue

**Warning: **Not the nicest of fan fictions. You can turn back now, or read at your own risk.

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><p><em><strong>Prologue - Bloodstained Day<strong>_

August, Year 2016

Computer screens blinked on and off, lights flashing at random intervals. Selected screens were covered by silhouettes, men standing in the vicinity of the room.

The tallest slammed his fist onto a table, breathing heavily. The remainder fought to keep their composure.

"What do you idiots mean by 'no leads' to their goddamn location?" he yelled loudly, gripping the sides of the tables as a side of his face is illuminated the fluorescence of the LEDs. "We need to contain that thing!"

A stouter man raised his hands, preparing to begin a long explanation.

"Sir, this biological weapon has neither definite cure nor prevention. It has infected two large cities at the time of four weeks. Not only that, it mutates almost immediately for every person that it infects," the man sighed in frustration. "It's totally unpredictable: there's no possibility that we'll contain the virus, even within five years."

Another agent spoke up, clearing her throat for others to hear. "With over a 90 percent fatality rate, finding a way to isolate it is indeed necessary. However, its high rate of mutation, as stated earlier by my colleague, will be a hindrance." She held a paper up. "I don't really believe we can do this and live to tell the tale."

The tall man let out a pained groan, turning to stare at the screen in front of him.

"I want everyone to find those two, and fast! They're our last chance to finding a lead!"

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><p><em>Some time <em>_earlier..._

A hiss of excruciating pain was all that he could say, America silently noted as covers were drawn from the side of the room. He shook his head, looking at the remaining nations in the room. The same question was sifting in their minds. _Who and why would someone release a deadly biological weapon?_

None had taken it as hard as America himself. It was in the heart of New York, he found out when the CIA reported the case to them. Then, they infiltrated the labs, shot scientists dead, only to see that two of the scientists there had taken a sample, even waving at several officers readied with pistols before jumping out of the building. They had failed to find them at first, yet they did not report this to all the major companies. This was also sugarcoated by the fact that one of the escapees was later caught in the city station, and was immediately gunned down, breaking his deadly sample in the process to the others' displeasure. They took the body out to God knows where.

The horrific truth that one had successfully left only unraveled when a mysterious man threw a vial and started shooting randomly in a meeting room in a building off in the bustling suburbs of Manhattan, which, coincidentally, was where the countries were holding their monthly summit. Italy, who had decided to go out for a siesta, took the brunt of the damage, sustaining near-deadly wounds to the head and torso, especially the one that they suspected had struck his heart, and their assaulter then made his long, winding escape from the skyscraper and jumped out of the window in the tenth floor.

America knew that their attacker and one of the scientists was the same person. It had to be. Despite the fact that they successfully infiltrated the company before they could successfully unleash the weapon, America felt a shard of self-guilt strike his heart for not finding out any sooner. How foolish of him, not seeing how there was an illegal corporation wishing to bring the end of humanity. Biting his lip, he gripped his knees in an attempt to maintain his balance, shaking like an aspen twig in the middle of a powerful blizzard.

France sighed, heaving America's trembling form and helping him sit on a nearby chair. This week had been a total disaster. He could almost laugh bitterly, at that they didn't even try to stop the stranger that planned to kill them all. They saw that monster attack a fellow nation, yet they stared blankly, allowing the man to wave adieu while they witnessed Italy instantly collapse to the ground, bleeding violently as his bloody hand went into contact with the vial's crimson liquid. England gave them liquid-proof gloves to avoid whatever that red substance could do to their system. Then, they heaved Italy up, carrying him all the way, however unorthodox, to the nearest hospital, shoving other passerby that dared cross their paths in their reckless actions. It was one of the only times they knew that nations, no matter how long they had lived, could be attacked outright.

"He's bleeding profusely. He needs a transfusion."

Today was going to be much, much worse.

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><p>"I'm sorry," the doctor began, in a cold voice that suggested a dark mood. "Your friend has passed away."<p>

France burst out in bitter laughter, collapsing on the floor in a fit of madness, while America lowered his head in shame, clutching his face in his arms. The others remained, too tired and too surprised to move. All nations felt a desire to double up and scream, the compulsion only being pushed out by the grim reality that one of them had passed away.

Outside, grey clouds could be seen covering the shining sun, almost as if the planet felt the sorrow shared by the landmasses that harbored personifications. Indeed, it was a grim day to be remembered.

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><p>Not one nation, even Italia Romano, better known as South Italy, dared to shake a glance at their deceased companion. Hungary sobbed into her handkerchief, eyes red and several tears incessantly flowing to her chin, droplets hitting the pleated skirt of her modern wear. Austria sat close by, lips sealed tight, fighting back tears for his former servant and honorary nephew.<p>

Germany and Japan kept a stoic façade, holding each other's hands in a time of sadness. Watching the stretcher being wheeled away from the ICU and into the morgue, the two former Axis nations felt stricken by a long, lingering sickness. Japan furiously wished it was a dream, some sick fantasy warped by his mind to terrify him, but he couldn't think of it as such. The image of Italy's brown eyes pleading for help as a gun fired in front of him haunted the dark-haired nation. But, he knew, wishing for the impossible will do nothing to support your current situation.

Germany was just as hurt. He didn't like to admit that he indeed cared for the usually talkative nation, and guilt for not revealing his feelings and being open, for once, hit him when he saw that his friend was gone. He was in agony, but he refused to show it. _Now is not the time to look vulnerable,_he mused to himself, uneasily moving his shoulders.

China shook his head repeatedly, unwilling to believe how a catastrophe could occur so fast and swift. He glanced briefly at France, who had stopped laughing and was now concealing his face with both hands, wallowing in misery and demise. America wasn't present in the pasty white halls of the hospital, having bolted out as soon as he stood up. He falsely believed that he wouldn't see another nation perish for the remainder of his lifetime, but now, here he was, trapped in the sickly white building, just having watched another nation's body carried away.

How great failures they were, powerful nations who were entirely helpless to a mere human being, just observing until the time that Italy let out a yell of pain.

The moment his hand touched that red pathogen that spilled into the floor would remain in their memories for the rest of their long, miserable lives.

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><p>AN: BOOM! Character death!

Hello, Rauser here.

I hadn't planned on writing another story to clash with the in-progress Hidden Blank-Point, but the muse was screaming loudly in my head along with the other muse convincing me to continue writing the Fem! Romano fic. So I decided to satiate both of their wishes to make them shut up. Two voices screaming in your head can be unbearable.

Oh well.

Also, in a test bid to see if there are others who know the game this will be crossed with, I want my readers to try naming it. No big deal, just seeing if there are more multi-fan-based Hetalians (...was that the correct term?) in this site. I'll give the Reveal soon.

For the meanwhile, one of the fan fictions will ultimately be put on a hiatus until the other is finished, or discontinued. As of now, I am at a point of indecision.

Some alterations in both story lines have been made.

Hetalia © Hidekazu Himaruya & Studio DEEN

[Name Redacted] © ?

I own neither the game nor the manga/anime.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One - Glint**_

Not one nation present at the summit opted to return to their homeland, and they sat in front of a table, giving each other lasting stares. There was only silence to provide them solace in this day of dread.

Outside, car lights shone red, a start of another traffic jam, as similar as the current state of America's mind. He couldn't think clearly, his thoughts a thick, impenetrable fog of disorientation. He was trapped in a dead end, not knowing where to begin or where to stop. The highest possibility to the fate of the scientist—_soulless __attacker_— was that he was dead. _Better die than be killed,_flashed a small memory, though he couldn't place when. No, scratch that, he should be more worried about Italy's closest allies and relatives. Spain would certainly blow his top. Turkey is also one to worry about. He was dreading both a nation's death and the consequences it would rake across the hidden world of personifications. The same, damned emotion again shot in his chest. Shame. Mortification for failing to see trouble brewing, and he let it reach a fatal conclusion. He slammed a fist onto the table, cursing repeatedly how he couldn't think clearly at the time he needed to do so. Finally, in a moment of surrender, he massaged his forehead, allowing himself to be caught with his emotions rather than try and fail to think rationally.

England was thinking another thing altogether, keeping his calm composure even though he was still daunted by everything that had occurred, that he had seen through his eyes.

_What now?_

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><p>He was greeted by the glare of lights, blinding colors entering his pupils immediately. Shutting his eyes in agony, he rolled over, crashing to the floor face-first, causing a quiet hiss from shock. He hurried to stand up and regain his balance, grabbing a nearby post in the process as he adjusted himself to his surroundings. The sound of glass cracking and several equipment falling over hurt his ears, rang into his mind like a loud alarm clock. He couldn't take it, the nearly deafening sounds he could track. He struggled to keep upright, stumbling again and again, gripping his bloody shirt, nearly sliding and hitting his head on the floor, until he glimpsed a door. He nearly crashed into the hard metal, and it took him all his strength to be silent. Trembling hands reached for the doorknob, and stopped just as he was about to turn it. Blurry as his thoughts may be, he knew that blindly opening the door will instill alarm among the crew inside. His eyes glanced at every possible exit erratically, just wishing to get out of this small prison, and he persisted to continue and not succumb to unconsciousness. Sights soon moved to a window just above eye level, and he dragged a cart carefully near it and climbed up to inspect. Small as though it might be, he could certainly squeeze in it, just to save his life. Fingers brushed against the cold glass, and he sighed with relief, before he finally drew his arm back, preparing to strike and make his way to freedom.<p>

He didn't expect to see the explosion of a building after he safely landed on the road.

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><p>America was talking to several authorities about the previous incident when a flash of light caught everyone's eye. He spun around in surprise, momentary shock in his features as he ran for the nearest large window in the room.<p>

The sight that greeted him and the authorities was not in any way pretty.

From the thickness of the gray smoke coming from the building, he almost never recognized what it was, but he knew the coordinates. The hospital where they had carried Italy to was now nothing more than a burning concrete husk, fires raging out from its windows while firemen attempted to put it out. The other nations had also followed him, gasping in horror at the scene they bore witness to.

"_Italia Veneziano!_" Romano howled in outrage. He rushed to the window and started yelling. "Damn you! You not only walk out of my life, you... you—!"

He collapsed into an undignified heap on the floor as the other Europeans dashed towards him and helped him up, the Southern Italian staring at the scene half-consciously and in utter disbelief. France was the one who supported the nation, waving everyone off as he gripped the shorter man's shoulders and motioned him towards his room.

England bit his lip, unable to comprehend how quickly events occurred within the same date. From the shooting to that of another catastrophe that will cost several more lives, it was almost akin to a peaceful town being ravaged by the treacheries of war. So twisted and vile it could make everyone's heads hurt at the atrocities, all because of hatred and malice. And, for once, he wondered if humanity was ever at peace.

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><p>Despite Romano's later reluctance to see what was happening, they still went to the hospital grounds, waiting intently as men extinguished the last remnants of the fire.<p>

"What are you doing?" someone bellowed, trying to chase after the party of men charging into the smoldering foundation without any permission from authorities.

France was the first to dive inside the rooms, furiously looking for the charred husk that was once the morgue.

He stopped when a block of wood, with a cringe worthy creak, toppled over and nearly crushed him, and he backed away, nearly crashing into two Allied nations who were just behind his tail.

"France— what?" England exclaimed, holding France off at arm distance and raising himself to see what had happened. The sight of blackened wood blocking the doorway greeted him.

Annoyed, he stomped to his way to it, passing a perplexed China, and pushed it, letting charcoal to stain his hands and clothes in the process. Satisfied, he spun around, looking at the others following him, then promptly continued walking to the morgue.

He was passing the seventh doorway when America grabbed his shoulder, hard, and pointed to an unhinged and partly burnt door, and all of them walked in.

Behind them, England could hear Romano's anguished groan, the Southern Italian taking in the rather intact surroundings. He nodded in acknowledgement, sighing as he glimpsed blanket-covered cadavers on metal beds.

He heard footsteps leading away from the room, and he turned around, finding Romano with his back turned, about to leave and never go back.

"We need to go. Now."

Japan calmly placed a white flower on top of the cadaver with a dog tag that sported Italy's name, and followed the said nation's older brother out of the room.

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><p>A nation's death was not only the bad news to face them. It worsened when France's phone rang loudly.<p>

"_Mon dieu, _that's impossible," he muttered to the phone, blue eyes widened in horror as he stood up from his seat. "It can't be."

Finally, he closed his phone and fixated his gaze on everyone present in the room.

"Venice, Italy," he began, panting, hands gripping the sides of the table. England shot him a quizzical look. "We're going there in five hours."

He moved his gaze to Romano, and the latter jumped up in surprise.

"Officials are panicking there. They said that Venice—" he breathed in and stopped for a brief moment, expression flickering between lament and horror.

"They said the city is currently reeking of dead bodies and what they think to be monstrous creatures."

Everyone's reaction was immediate.

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><p>AN: Friends, a poll for which of my two Hetalia fanfictions should be continued first. I recommend that you have read both of them first before you make a decision.

Hetalia © Hidekazu Himaruya & Studio DEEN

[Name Redacted] © ?

I own neither the game nor the Manga/Anime Series.


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